Bedtime Story
by BaldiDaughterChevy
Summary: Dean comforts Sam after a bad day at school.


**Weechesters fic. Dean comforts Sam after a hard day at school.**

 **Don't own them. Like any of you would believe me if I claimed that anyways...**

That afternoon Sam is unusually quiet on their walk home from school. He trudges beside Dean, brooding and pale.

The snow had come early to the small Michigan town where the Winchesters were staying, falling thick and heavy in November not long after Thanksgiving. Now it's black with oil and dirt and lays, sprawled out on the sidewalks and in the ditches like a storm-cloud fallen to earth.

The boys walk through the piles in tennis shoes wrapped with plastic bread bags and rubber-banded around their ankles. This was John Winchester's brilliant idea. They can't afford luxuries like snow boots and even if they could "what's the point of buying new shoes when you'll just outgrow them in a couple months?" is what he always says if Sam asks.

So they make do. Sort of.

Sam is stopping every few steps to pull the 'bread-bag-boot' on his left foot back up. The rubber band is too big for his skinny ankles.

Dean watches his little brother getting more and more frustrated every time he has to fix it, his pale cheeks flushing with frustration and the early December chill.

"UGHHH!" He finally screams as he reaches down and rips the bag from his shoe. He tears it off and lets it go, flapping down the street to join the bits of newspaper and fast food bags littering the ditches.

"Sammy! Why didn't you let me help. I could have tightened it for you. And you littered, what if the police were watching?"

Sam completely ignores his big brother, pulls his ear flap hat down so it covers his eyes and stomps ahead.

"Sam, stop!" Dean shouts but he's too late. Blindly, Sam steps right into a huge, slushy, puddle with his newly exposed shoe, filling it and soaking his sock with icy water.

Sam slumps down on the sidewalk in a tiny heap of pathetic dejection and starts to cry.

Dean is trying not to laugh when he gets to his side, he finds the whole situation hilarious in a cruel way.

But one look at Sam's face and Dean stops laughing. His little brother looks devastated, huge tears rolling down his cheeks, tiny chest hitching beneath his (not heavy enough) corduroy jacket.

"Sammy, come on! Don't cry. It's just wet socks and a stupid shoe. We'll have that old shoe dried out in no time. Dad won't even know it happened."

Dean's talking too fast and starting to get scared because Sam won't stop crying, he's practically wailing now, covering his face in a display of shame that is too much like an adult for a little boy barely 6 years old.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean scoops Sam up and carries him.

Arms full of his brother, Dean runs haphazardly, soaking his jeans with sooty snow and muddy water.

In just a few minutes he hauls Sam all the way back to the motel.

Once inside the room, he pulls off his wet sock and shoe and wrestles the remaining, mangled, bread-bag from his right foot, removing his other sock and shoe.

Sam stands barefoot and miserable, hiccuping as he tries to recover from his sudden outburst.

Dean pulls Sam's hat off and helps him change out of his coat, sweater, and wet jeans, getting him into a clean pair of pajamas.

"Why don't you lay down, Sammy?" He asks gently, fixing the covers on the his bed. "You can watch cartoons while I make us macaroni and cheese."

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, his chest still twitching from time to time.

Dean doesn't want to make Sam cry again but he needs to know what happened to bring on this meltdown. He knows it was something more than a wet sock to make his usually sunny little brother so upset.

"How was school today, Sammy?" Dean says it casually but watches him with a close, nervous expression.

Sam just looks away and climbs up under the covers. He turns the TV on and finds a kid's show he likes. He watches it silently, not even laughing at his favorite parts.

Dean sighs loudly but gets up and makes them macaroni and cheese.

He divides it up into two bowls, giving Sam the majority, but Sam eats about two bites and then sets the bowl on the bedside table.

"You have to eat, Sam." Dean pleads. "You must be hungry." Sam turns back to the TV and Dean decides this has gone too far. He grabs the remote and shuts the show off. "Ok, fine. No more TV until you talk to me."

"Hey! No fair!" Sam shouts and tries to grab the remote back. Dean stands up on the bed and holds the remote above his head. "NO! Not until you tell me what's wrong!" "You can't tell me what to do, Dean" Sam says "You can't tell me what to do..." He repeats "You aren't..." he falters and his lip trembles. "You aren't mom." He says quietly.

Dean stops dead. The arm holding up the remote lowers slowly and he lets it fall onto the bed. He sinks down beside his little brother. "I know that, Sammy" He whispers.

After a minute Sam starts to speak "At school, Dean" he says "...the kids at school...we have to write a story about our family at Christmas. Everybody is gonna write about their moms, about how they make food and cookies and wrap presents and I don't know...I don't..."he hiccups again and whispers "I don't have anything to write."

Sammy is crying silently now, tears dripping down onto his flannel pajamas.

Of all the horrors Dean has already witnessed in his young life, seeing Sam crying like this is hands down the worst.

Sam never cries anymore. Lately when he gets hurt he barely says anything. Last week he'd skinned his knee playing 'hot lava' and jumping between the beds and Dean had tried to hug him. But Sam said huffily that he was too big for hugs now and went and got a band-aid for himself.

But Dean never would listen, especially not to his little brother, and now is no exception.

He reaches over and wraps Sammy in a tight hug, clinging to him the way he used to cling to their mom before she burned and he had to grow up overnight.

"Sam." He said after awhile. "Sammy, will you stop crying if I tell you a story about mom?"

Sam sat back and wiped his eyes and nose with a tiny hand. "But you never wanna talk about her..."he said narrowing his eyes.

"I know, but now it's different. You need to have a story to write for school. I'm just helping you study."

Sam nodded.

"Lay down and it'll be like a bedtime story"

Sam got back under the covers and Dean laid on his back beside him, trying to remember that Christmas 7 years ago, the only one he could recall sharing with their mom.

"I remember Dad brought home a tree that was way too tall." Dean began, a sad smile on his face.

"He had to cut the top off and mom said it wasn't a tree anymore it was just a bush. It was so beautiful though. I loved it. I told everyone I saw that year that we were special because we had a Christmas bush instead of a boring old tree."

Sam laughed. It sounded congested and a little raspy but it made Dean glow beside him.

Sam fell asleep peacefully to the sound of his big brother's voice as Dean told him all about that Christmas before he was born.

A school-essay kind of story.

The kind that normal kids take for granted.

~end

 **Short but sweet.**

 **The bread-bag boots are a real thing.**

 **My mom inflicted that idea on me when I was little and the stupid rubber bands always slipped down. Sooo..yeah, my family wasn't rich.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Review...? :)**


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